Jealousy
by Stardust Sprinkler
Summary: Persephone shines too brightly for Hades to keep her all for himself. This is his greatest fear. (Don't hate me, I've experimented with a Hermes/Persephone pairing and with a bit of a darker side to Hades. Contains mild sexual content. One of my better pieces.)


_**JEALOUSY**_

It was his own fault, he was well aware. He was letting sinister, traitorous thoughts stew in his brain until his lips burned with unspoken accusations. His wife was unparalleled in her kindness and grace, befriended and adored by nearly all of the Olympic gods. Hermes was no exception. Well, the messenger god was unique in _one_ aspect. He was one of the very few gods that ventured from Mount Olympus to the Underworld regularly, if only because of his occupation. Although, perhaps it was due in part to Hades' beautiful bride. Gods, why couldn't he stop thinking like this?

It's just…she smiled at the god so brightly when he visited. He should trust his wife. But as she strolled and laughed with the other god, Hades' own mind planted insidious seeds that boasted doubt and spite as their sprouts. She spent half of each year in another realm, separated from her king. Surely, she grew lonely. Hades regretted every single letter he had ever sent her because it warranted a visit from that man. How easy it would be, to sit and talk in the sunshine on the rolling hills of the mortal world during springtime. A season Hades could never share with Persephone. Images of her and the handsome messenger were painted on the backs of Hades' eyelids as he fought to sleep. The two tangled up together in the warm grass, with wandering hands and straying lips. Straying from her husband, her king. Months spent coupling whenever they got the chance, with breathless moans and whispered promises. Did his name roll off her tongue as easily as Hades' did when she was confined to their dismal marital bed? Did he plow her on the freshly sown fields, did she sink onto him in beds of wildflowers? Did their carnal desire demand immediate action in wide open spaces, lewd and bold and frantic?

Rage ran through Hades' veins in lieu of ichor, his unexplained coldness and resentment distressing his beloved goddess to no end. Yes, he loved her, he couldn't bear to share her. But if he must, then she would share him as well. During the summer months, an opportunity presented itself. The soul of the infamous Antigone was relieved of its mortal coil, shortly followed by her love and his mother. Hades, however, had not interest in Haemon or Eurydice. He took the virgin beauty for himself, confining her to his chambers. Whenever his jealousy became too much, he rutted the girl with the ferocity befitting a scorned lover, as he _knew_ himself to be. He spent weeks in this fashion, even up until the day he knew his beloved would return. He pretended not to notice when she stood shocked and heartbroken in the doorway. He just continued thrusting in between the ivory thighs of his mistress, raining kisses on her neck as he grunted in time with his hips. When she later confronted him, he finally released the boiling accusations from his lips as tears streaked down her cheeks.

He learned she had never done it. She never partook of Hermes' affection, even though it was offered. Persephone had been kept warm by the memory of her husband and spent her nights lying in an otherwise empty bed. It was Hades' turn to feel heartbreak. He felt his anger turn in on himself and refused to fight her when she moved to a bedroom of her own. The first blow came when he saw Hermes leave her room early one morning, cheeks ruddy and hair disheveled. Who could he blame? He had pushed her to this. Yes, he had dismissed his mistress the same day his wife had witnessed his infidelity. Her role had been fulfilled. But he understood too late the consequences of his furious jealousy when met with his love's staunch faithfulness. The damage to Persephone had already been done. It was his turn to suffer.

And so suffer he did. The blows continued. Her neck sported her lover's marks. Their clothes were sometimes left scattered down palace hallways. When Hades passed her room, he'd hear his wife's name moaned by another. One day, he passed by a window only to glimpse, in the garden down below, her head between Hermes' legs, the god's head tossed back in pleasure. Hades stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away. It was one thing to be aware of the affair, it was another to be a voyeur to it. His heart sunk deeper, like a leaden weight in his chest. In the following weeks, Hades buried himself in his work. He couldn't bear to hear their sounds at night, while lying in the cold expanse of his bed. Instead, he'd work until he passed out in exhaustion, writing implement still in hand.

He saw no end in sight for his suffering as time crept by. Soon, it would be Spring again and the rift between them would deepen. The day before she was to leave was spent sitting on his throne performing his duties as lord and judge. During a pause in the proceedings, the ornate doors of the hall swung wide and winged feet crossed the threshold. Hermes held sundry scrolls for the King of the Underworld, not an unusual delivery. Hades received them with his lips pressed into such a thin line that it rivaled a thread of the Fates. His eyes burned like a wildfire roaring out of control, unlike the crackling embers they had held when his jealousy was merely conjecture.

As Hermes turned his back to him, another figure entered the hall. Elegance guided her steps and petals fell in her wake. The swift-footed god approached her and she greeted him with a small nod. He cupped one of her rosy cheeks in his hand and gently kissed the other. They exchanged sad, soft smiles before she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She caught the shocked gaze of her husband, holding it until she was sure he understood. It had ended. But why, why just before Spring? When she would be free of him, free of this place? When she could bask in the sunshine as much as in her lover's attention? Her footsteps, however light, echoed like Hephaestus' hammer in the ears of the king as she exited the hall, doors whisking shut behind her.

For a few weeks, Hades didn't venture to the world above as he had often done the first time she left for Spring. He did not dread what he would discover when he saw her, he feared her viewing his presence as prying and suspicious. Mercifully, Thanatos spoke to him of what he had heard and witnessed while escorting shades down below. Persephone kept company with the likes of Apollo, Bacchus, Eros, even an eager Artemis. All four, and more, came to court her now that Olympus was privy to the affairs of the Underworld. The flower goddess smiled and entertained them as a gracious hostess in her blossoming fields and groves. Sunlight kissed the blooming daffodils and revelry himself spoke wistfully of upcoming grape harvests as Artemis and Eros wove delicate sprigs into Persephone's hair. When the heavens passed from the hands of Apollo to that of Hecate each day, the gentle queen would bid all farewell and pad swiftly home to the arms of Demeter. It was evident that Hades had correctly interpreted her stare; she would not continue doing what her once cherished husband had done to her.

At the close of Summer, Persephone returned to her home below the earth to find her husband absent. She thought she had disillusioned herself when it came to her love, but it stung her heart with fresh pains when he was not there to welcome her. A cheerful expression belying her internal ache, she refamiliarized herself with her lands and subjects until exhaustion overtook her. As she approached her private room, she noticed the door was left ajar. It swung inward with a slight push of her hand. All she saw were wildflowers.

They covered her bedspread; peonies piled atop her pillows, clusters of hyacinth bordered the bed, orchids and crocuses met in the middle. A note floated atop the flowers, an explanation and apology. Hades had to pick them today, for they'd wilt soon after she descended here. He hoped she felt welcomed.

She didn't sleep under the covers that night. After all, where should the goddess of Spring feel at home if not in a flowerbed? A few tears settled on the plucked plants like dew, but she was unable to discern the reason behind the ache in her chest. She came to him the next night, the sound of her slipping into his chambers enough to rouse him from the dominion of Hypnos. He sat up to see her perched on the edge of his bed, wearing only a nightdress and a delicately woven crown of asphodels. The gesture was not lost on him. These were the flowers of death, of the grave, of Hades. He reached out to touch her, but his hand's approach stuttered as if he was afraid she would flee upon contact. She shifted closer to him in encouragement, but made no further movement. His hand stretched out once again, this time touching her crown. It grew heavy on her brow.

Persephone had never been interested in the riches her husband possessed as the God of Wealth. She had eaten the pomegranate for love of him. And as queen, she frequently discouraged garish gifts from him or her worshippers. But as the tips of his fingers brushed along the blossoms encircling her head, the petals hardened into opals and the leaves into emeralds. The stems and stamens were replaced by woven gold filaments and the entire diadem glittered atop her royal head. She now wore something as uniquely him as it was uniquely her, and her consequential smile shone brightly in the dim shadows of the Underworld. She gathered him into her arms as he whispered devout praise and fervent promises to her in the dark. He was hers alone and she was his, as she had always been. She reassured him: it was all but a glimmer in the face of eternity.

_FINIS_


End file.
